Voodoo
by LazyCreeper
Summary: Harry decides to take a very drunk Malfoy home with him one night, doing it as a mere act of kindness, not expecting what he gets in return.  Drarry.  Slow-burner.  EWE.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is my first thing to ever submit to . Hurrah. :D

* * *

"Oi," Ron said, nudging Harry with his elbow. "D'you reckon that's Malfoy down there?" Ron jabbed a thumb to his side, apparently referring to a figure all the way at the end of the bar.

Harry looked where Ron was pointing. He furrowed his brow. "Dunno," he said. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stood up. "I'll go see."

It was unmistakably Draco Malfoy that Ron had spotted—his white-blonde hair and porcelain skin were impossible to forget. Even though it'd been more than a year since Harry had seen him, Malfoy hadn't changed in the slightest. The former Slytherin was sitting haphazardly at a barstool, his cheek pressed against the bar top. His arms dangled limply at his side. His eyes were closed—apparently he'd passed out. The seamless business-casual outfit he was clad in, with his tailored black robes, grey cashmere turtleneck, black slacks, and smart black loafers, made him look horribly out of place. His attempt at looking good was wasted at the Three Broomsticks.

Harry grimaced at the thought that Malfoy's face was actually _touching_ the filthy bar top. He thought about leaving him there for awhile, for hilarity, but he decided he'd be nice.

"Hey," Harry shouted, giving Malfoy's shoulder a vigorous shake. "Get up."

"Mmmh," Malfoy mumbled, opening his eyes a crack and shutting them again. Slowly, he reached his hands up and placed them on the edge of the bar for support. He heaved his head up, skin literally peeling away from the sticky counter. A beer coaster was stuck to his bony cheek.

"Can't hold your liquor too well, eh, Drakey?" Harry said loudly to irritate him, clapping him on the shoulder.

Malfoy raised a hand to his face and felt the beer coaster stuck to it, dabbing at it with his fingertips, trying to figure out what it was. Instead of ripping it off, he moved his hand upward and threaded his fingers through his fine hair.

"_Fuck_," he mumbled, eyes still closed.

Harry peeled the bar coaster off of his face and tossed it. Malfoy's face was just too much. "Fancy Malfoy getting juiced up with the rest of us _commoners_," Harry laughed.

"Ffffuck you, Harry," Malfoy slurred, his eyes nothing more than two slits. Even while he was sitting, he was teetering, threatening to crash to the floor. Harry couldn't wait to see him try to stand.

Malfoy reached out and grabbed two fistfuls of Harry's robes to steady himself; he tried to pull himself up, but ended up crumpling into Harry's chest.

"Ffffuck you, Harry," he repeated, growling into the fabric of Harry's tee shirt as Harry caught him round the waist.

Harry grabbed Malfoy and held him firmly at arm's length by the shoulders. Sweaty blonde hair fell into his eyes that he was struggling so hard to keep open. Harry knew if he let go, Malfoy would most definitely fall, and probably couldn't manage to hoist himself back up.

Ron had come to Harry's side to see all the commotion. "Bloody hell, it _is_ Malfoy!" Ron laughed. "He's totally shitfaced!"

"I know," Harry said, a smile playing across his lips.

"Oh, throw that git to the floor and let's get out of here, we're nearly the only people left in here," Ron said, casting nervous glancing about the room.

And Harry was tempted to do just that, until he envisioned a very drunk Malfoy trying to Apparate home, Splinching himself—one half of his body making it to its destination but leaving the other half in the Three Broomsticks, blood and body parts spurting everywhere.

Harry grimaced. "Er…you go on, Ron," Harry said. "I suppose I'll Side-Along Malfoy back to his place."

"What?" Ron said, but then he shrugged. "Suit yourself, mate, but you're being way nicer than Malfoy deserves. Later, Harry," Ron said, and with a swirl of robes, Ron was gone.

Malfoy's head had lolled to the side, his eyes closed again. Harry shook him until the blonde snapped his head back up and looked at him. "Now, listen, I'm going to need you to hold on as tightly as you can to me because I'm going to Side-Along you back to your Manor—"

"_No_," Malfoy said, trying his hardest to look Harry in the eyes. "_Don't_," he pleaded.

"What?" Harry said, genuinely confused. "I—you don't want me to take you back to your Manor?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head. "_Please_...please, don't…" he said.

"Er—" Harry started. "Why not, Malfoy?"

"Long…story," Malfoy mumbled.

_Oh, hell_, Harry thought. _Malfoy's too bloody drunk to give me any clear answers and now I'm stuck with him. Should've let the git Splinch himself._

Harry sighed. He was at a complete loss for what to do. He wished Hermione were here so she could tell him. "I suppose…I suppose you'll come home with me tonight…can't seem to think of anything _else_ to do with you…"

Malfoy looked at Harry, gray eyes swimming. He mustered up something that looked similar to a smile.

Harry grabbed onto Malfoy's waist as tightly as he could. "Now hold on _tight_, you hear me?"

Malfoy did as he was told, grabbing hold of Harry's midsection. It was a little awkward because Malfoy was a couple inches taller, but he thought he'd be able to manage.

And with an uncomfortable twist, they Apparated to Harry's flat.

xxx

As soon as they'd popped into Harry's living room, Malfoy promptly doubled over and vomited everywhere. With a grimace, Harry pulled out his wand and did a cleaning charm for both his floor and the front of Malfoy's shirt. He then nudged the blonde in the direction of the bathroom, leaving him to it.

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening unwillingly to Malfoy retch in the room next to his. He _could_ get an anti-nausea potion for him out of the cupboard…but he'd give it to him after he was sure Malfoy'd learned his lesson.

He let it go on for another half-hour, dozing off and waking up a number of times, until he thought he'd better go and check up on him—make sure he hadn't drowned in his own sick or something.

Malfoy was curled into a ball on Harry's bathroom rug, clutching his stomach. He'd passed out again. His hair was everywhere, his clothes were rumpled, his eyes had dark circles underneath them.

With a sigh, Harry heaved him up and carried him damsel-in-distress style into his living room. He dumped Malfoy onto his couch, hunted a spare blanket for him out of the closet, and sloppily threw it over him.

_That's all you're getting from _me, _Malfoy_, Harry thought.

Throwing one last look over his shoulder at the unconscious form on his couch, Harry went off to bed himself.

xxx

Before he even opened his eyes, Malfoy knew that something was very, very, very wrong. An unfamiliar smell wafted through his nose—something like cheap cologne and dust. His back ached from sleeping on something lumpy.

He sat up, an intense pain immediately flooding to his head. His hands shot out and he massaged his temples with the heels of his hands, but it didn't do much good.

Dare he open his eyes? He contemplated this for awhile. He finally decided he should. He cracked them open, realizing that they, too were sore. He couldn't see anything because it was so dark. He felt around in his robes for his wand and muttered, "_Lumos._"

The light made him wince. He stared about the room. It was fairly bare; wood paneling, worn carpet, scuffed coffee table piled high with magazines and letters, beaten armchair, an outdated Muggle television. And the couch he was sitting on, of course.

Where _was_ he?

He eased himself off of the couch, wand held aloft, looking round. He walked down a hallway lined with the same dreadful paneling and the same dreadful carpet. He came to a door to his left. He opened it. A bathroom, and a dismally small one at that. Another door to his right. A closet. Not much in here but a few robes, some spare blankets, and some cardboard boxes. Finally, he came to the last door, on his left.

A bedroom, with a figure curled beneath the sheets. Malfoy's stomach lurched.

He _had_ to know, but he was scared. He considered Apparating on the spot, but that could be dangerous if he didn't know what kinds of wards were set up around the perimeter. He was stuck until the owner of the house let him out the front door. And he wanted to know who, precisely, that was.

He crept across the room soundlessly, on tiptoe. He skirted around the bed, as whomever he was in the company of was rolled onto their side. He stared at the sleeping face of his captor…and noticed some very familiar messy black hair and an even more familiar zigzag scar poking out of the blankets.

He had to cram his hands over his mouth to keep from crying out.

How did _Potter_ get a hold of him?

* * *

**End Notes: **Technically no slash in this chapter. But I'm working up to it. :}


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: **First of all, Harry/Malfoy slash. That's pretty self-explanatory. Secondly, slow-burner. As in, if you're looking for a story where they jump in the sack together for no particular reason, sadly, this is not the story for you. Actual slash may not appear until later chapters—unless, of course, you're good at reading between the lines. Thirdly, EWE. I'm one of the ones that wishes Rowling didn't write an epilogue, sorry.

**Author's Note: **This was kinda bothering me and I'd like to point it out, but I guess it isn't a big deal. On Part 1 of this story, I wrote an Author's Note saying 'This is the first story I've ever submitted to this website.' Except instead of 'this website' I put the actual URL, and I guess when you write URLs the coding erases them. So now, on Part 1, you read, 'This is the first story I've ever submitted to.' That sounds really awkward and is not what I meant. At all. Just so you know.

* * *

"_Potter!_"

Malfoy was incessantly jabbing Harry in the kidneys with his wand, moderately warm due to the Lumos light still emitting from its tip. "Potter, I _demand_ you wake up and start explaining things _right_ this instant!" Malfoy had gone from frightened to furious after he realized whose house he was in. He was using one hand to poke Harry's back and the other to hold on to his pounding forehead.

Harry groaned. He knew the moment Malfoy became moderately sober he would be in for a blonde explosion, but he wished it could've waited until the sun came up…at least.

"—before I stick this wand up your arse, you had better—"

"Al_right_, Malfoy!" Harry bellowed, scrambling into the sitting position. "I'm a_wake_! Now leave off with the fucking _poking!_"

Harry felt around his bedside table until his hand brushed against his glasses. He grabbed them, put them on. Malfoy was glaring down at him.

"You can pout all you like, Malfoy," Harry said, standing up, "but I'm not telling you _anything_ until I've had some breakfast."

Malfoy scowled at him. Harry stared blankly at him for a moment and laughed.

"What?" Malfoy snapped.

"Your face," Harry said, flashing a toothy grin. "It's been ages since I've seen you make that face. It's funny."

Harry brushed past him and headed down the hall, leaving Malfoy standing dumbly in the middle of his bedroom with flushed cheeks.

"Oh, and Malfoy," Harry called from the kitchen. "If I were you, I'd have a shower while you wait."

"Why?" Malfoy called back, not even bothering to hide the worry in his voice.

"Because you're pretty well filthy after everything you did last night," Harry said, chuckling to himself.

Malfoy stomped out of Harry's room and into the kitchen. "You're playing games with me," he said, still clutching a pale hand to his forehead.

"Smell your shirt and see if I'm playing games with you," Harry said casually, rummaging through his cabinets for suitable cookware.

Malfoy's eyes widened and he tottered off wordlessly to Harry's bathroom.

"Fresh towels are under the sink," Harry called after him, wearing a smirk to rival Malfoy's.

xxx

Malfoy had a towel twisted round his damp hair and was wearing a tee shirt and jeans he had dug out of Harry's closet. His own clothes were spread out in Harry's living room floor. Harry smiled to himself as he listened to Malfoy murmur countless household charms, undoubtedly trying to clean his clothing with no success.

"How do you like your eggs?" Harry called into the living room.

"Eggs are disgusting, Potter," Malfoy called back, reaching a hand up to readjust his towel.

"Scrambled it is, then."

Harry used his wand to gather the breakfast plates and glasses and float them over to the table. Even Malfoy made a point to stop his frivolities when he smelled fresh eggs, toast, bacon, and breakfast tea.

"You've made your breakfast," Malfoy said, stirring some sugar into his tea. "Now start talking."

"Right," Harry said, swallowing down a bite of toast. "Well, this entire _adventure_ began when I found you passed out in the Three Broomsticks last night…you had your face on the bar and your arse in the chair, and that was all that was keeping you from falling."

Malfoy looked mortified. "You mean my _face_ was actually making _contact_ with that filthy—"

"Mmhmm," Harry hummed into his cup. Harry smacked his lips. He could make a damn good cup of tea, if he didn't say so himself. "And your face was actually _stuck_ on there and you had to _peeeeeel _it off when—"

"_Enough_, Potter, next part of the story, please." Malfoy snapped, absently rubbing at his face like he could feel the germs crawling all over him.

"Right, then you said, 'Fuck you, Harry' a few times when I didn't even do anything to you...er, then you grabbed onto me and tried to stand up on your own, but I had to catch you because you were about to fall…"

Malfoy was actually wincing at his stupidity as Harry told his story, moodily stuffing food into his mouth.

"And here comes the part I want _you_ to explain, Malfoy," Harry said. "I was all ready to Side-Along you back to Malfoy Manor when you begged me not to."

Malfoy put down his fork. His stare was icy.

"Even _if_ I knew where to begin telling that _roller_coaster of a story," Malfoy said, "I wouldn't tell it to _you_, anyway."

"'Rollercoaster of a story,' you say?" Harry said. "Do go on, I love drama." He flashed his teeth at Malfoy.

"Absolutely not, Potter," Malfoy said tartly. "I won't be telling you anything about my personal life any time soon."

Harry stared.

Malfoy stared back.

Harry stared some more.

Malfoy kept staring back.

Harry twiddled his thumbs and stared.

Malfoy frowned. "Okay, Potter…all you need to know is, my father is none too happy with me right now, and when father isn't happy with me, mother isn't happy with me, either."

"So…" Harry said, "You tried to remedy your problem by…getting piss drunk at the Three Broomsticks? I guess I'm missing something, here, Malfoy."

"I was confused, all right?" Malfoy spat. "I didn't know where to go from there! I thought maybe a drink or two would help calm me down, is all. I mean…it's been quite some time since I felt so…_lost_."

"What was that, Malfoy?" Harry said.

"You bloody well know what I said," Malfoy retorted.

"I know, it's just, when you said it, you _almost_ sounded like a _real_ human with _actual_ feelings, instead of just being a pompous git," Harry said.

"I have plenty of feelings, thank you," Malfoy mumbled, nursing his tea, shooting Harry heated glances over the lip of his cup.

"So…" Harry started. "Where will you go from here, if you don't want to go back home?"

"I'm not sure," Malfoy said. He dropped his gaze away from Harry's, staring down at the wood table as though incredibly interested in it.

"Write to one of your Slytherin friends," Harry suggested.

Malfoy shot him a dirty look.

"Oh, right, there's no such thing as a 'Slytherin friend,' is there?" Harry said.

"You catch on fast, Potter," Malfoy said, but his voice had lost all its malice.

"You know—" Harry said, thinking on his feet. "If you'd like to _work _around here to earn your keep, I bet that old arm chair there would make a really comfy Transfigured bed."

"What are you trying to say, Potter?" Malfoy said carefully.

"I'm trying to say that this place definitely needs a wizard's touch. I never was good at Transfiguring things larger than pencils…or mending things, for that matter…and Merlin knows there is a _lot_ of mending to do around here," Harry laughed.

"And what, dare I ask, will _you_ be doing all day, if I actually agree to this?" Malfoy said.

"Now, I know this is hard to believe, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice very obviously dripping with sarcasm. "But there's this thing called a _job_, and regular people like me go to their _job_, and that's how they make their—"

"I _get_ it, Potter, I _get _it," Draco said, rubbing his temples. His headache was steadily worsening.

"I _still_ don't see what could be so bad that you'd want to leave your Manor, Malfoy," Harry said. "It's as big as a small town in there. Couldn't you just…y'know…_avoid_ your mum and dad?"

"If only it were that simple, Potter," Malfoy said softly.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here if you like, I suppose, just because I'd feel guilty about kicking you out," Harry said brightly. "But you _will _do all the mending and fixing and Transfiguring and whatnot for me. That's the deal."

"Leave it to a Gryffindor to feel guilty about something he played no part in," Malfoy said, standing up. With a lazy flick of his wand, Malfoy sent the breakfast dishes clattering into the sink to wash themselves.

"So I suppose that's a yes, then, to the staying here?" Harry asked.

"…For now," Malfoy said, smirking.

* * *

**End Notes: **I think I may have went a little overboard on how sarcastic I made Harry in this chapter, but regardless, the dialogue was fun to write. It sounded right in _my _head, anyway, but I suppose what matters is if it sounds right in _yours_. :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: **First of all, Harry/Malfoy slash. That's pretty self-explanatory. Secondly, slow-burner. As in, if you're looking for a story where they jump in the sack together for no particular reason, sadly, this is not the story for you. Actual slash may not appear in the first few chapters-unless, of course, you're good at reading between the lines. Thirdly, EWE. I'm one of the ones that wishes Rowling didn't write an epilogue, sorry.

**Author's Note:** Today's chapter is short because I went to the mall with a friend and was home for about an hour. Sorry about that. :P

* * *

Harry needed a bit of advice dealing with all this Malfoy business, so he arranged to have a lunch meeting at a Muggle café with someone he _knew_ would be able to help him out: Hermione. He invited Ron along as well, just to avoid being suspicious—wouldn't want Ron to think he was snogging on his girlfriend, or anything of the sort. He had told them both the story of the morning's events over salad and breadsticks.

"You actually ended up taking that prat home with you?" Ron said incredulously. "Like I said, should've just dumped him in the—"

"Hush a minute, Ron," Hermione said, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. Her brow was furrowed in thought, calculating, comparing, hypothesizing, and analyzing undoubtedly going on in her brain. She twiddled her fork in her salad as she thought.

"Harry," she said. "I think something _very_ drastic must have happened to Malfoy if he agreed to stay with _you_. No offense," she added hastily, after catching Harry's somewhat wounded expression. "It's just that…well…the two of you never did get on in school…"

"Plus Malfoy's a spoiled git and wouldn't want to endure five seconds at your place if he didn't think he had to," Ron added.

"Exactly," Hermione said. It seemed some of her tactical thinking was finally rubbing off on Ron. "So there's something here that he's not telling you."

"I figured out _that_ much," Harry said.

"Look, Harry," Hermione said. "No matter what Ron says"—she shot Ron a disapproving look—"I think you've gone and done a nice thing. I know Malfoy isn't showing it, but he's probably torn up inside about being unwanted in his own home."

"Well, yeah, but it sounds like he's just _using_ Harry, 'Mione," Ron said.

"At face value, yes," she said, muttering a 'thanks' to the waiter who brushed by and refilled her drink. "But I really don't think that's the case. He could _use_ one of his old Slytherin cronies. But with Harry—I think he's actually reaching out for help."

"_Malfoy_, reaching out for help?" Harry said doubtfully. "I dunno about that, Hermione."

"In his own way, I think he is," Hermione said.

xxx

_Reaching out for help_. Harry turned that phrase over and over in his mind all afternoon. Hermione had been right about a lot of things in her day…but he wasn't so sure about this, yet.

When he got back to his flat, Malfoy was no longer dressed in his clothes. Instead he was a turquoise jumper and cream-colored, tailored trousers. He was sitting on Harry's couch, thumbing through a book called _Essential Spells for the Modern Housewitch. _A menagerie of other books lay in piles on the adjacent couch cushion.

"Where did all these come from?" Harry said. They certainly weren't his. Harry wasn't much of a reader.

"Snuck back to the Manor and got a few things while you were gone," Malfoy mumbled.

"But how did you manage to carry it all?" Harry asked.

Malfoy stared at him. "You killed Voldemort, yet you can't cast a simple shrinking charm…really, Potter, you _can't _be that dumb."

"Oh, leave off it, Malfoy," Harry mumbled, skirting past him and going into his bedroom. _Reaching out for help, my arse_, Harry thought. _If that's really how Malfoy reaches out for help, he's got a bloody funny way of showing it._

Harry took his Muggle clothes off, giving them a cursory sniff before hanging them back in the closet, and changed into his work robes. He took a quick glance at himself in the mirror he'd hung in his closet, thought briefly about combing his hair, decided not to. And when he came back into the living room to use the Floo, Malfoy was still at his spellbook, marking notes here and there with a pre-loaded quill.

Malfoy looked up. "Where are _you_ going?"

"You remember earlier this morning when I told you about that thing called a _job_—"

"_Potter_, I was _merely_ asking a question, I don't need your back-sass. I was merely curious, because this is an odd hour to leave home for work." He stuck his nose in the air in a very Malfoy-ish manner.

"Yeah, well…they make interns at the Ministry come in later than most people, I think it's so we don't bother them when we screw up…I don't have much of a choice but to work nights. And because of _you_, I'm running on four hours' sleep, thanks."

"The Ministry, eh?" Malfoy said, curtly ignoring the last part of Harry's remark. "What are you training to be?"

"I'd still love to be an Auror, I'm interning under a wizard named Paisley Craybaugh at the moment…look, Malfoy, I'd love to chat some more, but I really need to be off."

Malfoy rolled his eyes at the ceiling and went back to raking through his spellbook.

And without another word, Harry threw a bit of Floo powder into the fireplace, spoke his destination, and was whisked away into thin air.

Malfoy chewed at his lip, silently wondering what it would be like to have a place to be every day, like Harry did.

xxx

The first thing Harry noticed when he got back home was the smell. His flat no longer smelled of ancient, dusty things and the cologne he spritzed on himself when he went out. Instead, it smelled pleasantly like fresh linens, left to dry in the breeze and then plucked off the clothesline.

"Notice anything different, Potter?" Malfoy yelled from another room.

"Yeah, actually," Harry yelled back, making his way to his bedroom. He was simply exhausted. "What've you been doing while I was gone?"

"Working on everything consisting of any type of fabric in this house, trying to get this…_peculiar_ smell to go away," he said. "And tomorrow I plan on Scourgify-ing everything before I set to doing any _real_ work with this place."

"Ah," Harry said. He tugged his robes up over his head. No need to check for cleanliness this time, so he threw them in the hamper—tonight's subject was how to make a quick anti-venom draught for emergency situations, which he had promptly blown up all over himself. If he wasn't careful, he'd be failing his Auror internship…

"Potter, what _are_ you doing?" Malfoy shrieked.

Harry was rummaging through his closet, not even thinking about only being clad in his undershorts and socks. "If you don't like it, you can go somewhere else," Harry said. He pulled a tee shirt off of a hanger and slipped it on.

He turned to look at the blonde. "Why's your face all red, Malfoy?"

"Shut it, Potter," Malfoy mumbled, turning on his heels and resuming his spellwork on Harry's curtains.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings: **First of all, Harry/Malfoy slash. That's pretty self-explanatory. Secondly, slow-burner. As in, if you're looking for a story where they jump in the sack together for no particular reason, sadly, this is not the story for you. Actual slash may not appear in the first few chapters-unless, of course, you're good at reading between the lines. Thirdly, EWE. I'm one of the ones that wishes Rowling didn't write an epilogue, sorry.

**Author's Note:** I tried to get a little bit of actual -gasp- _plot development_ done in this chapter. But you know. Just a little.

* * *

The last words Lucius Malfoy ever said to his son were this:

"You are an utter disgrace."

His tone was low, icy, emotionless. Draco had been temporarily shocked—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, staring in disbelief at his father. But his shock quickly turned into anger, his face contorting into an ugly grimace. Fight or flight response? Yes. It was rapidly spiderwebbing through his veins, his heart hammering in his chest. With a half-second hesitation, he chose flight, Apparating on the spot, leaving his father alone in the west parlor.

Apparating is a risky thing, even _if_ you have a clear idea of where you're going. Draco didn't. He could have ended up anywhere, or Splinched himself into a pile of bones and nerve endings, which was a truly terrifying afterthought. He happened to appear on the well-worn trail that led into Hogsmeade; he supposed this place drew such strong emotions from him that his mind subconsciously told his body to travel there. He followed the path, scuffing his designer shoes in the dirt, hoping he'd come up with an idea of what to do next.

He stopped at the entrance to the Three Broomsticks, contemplating going inside. Through the windows, he could see that everyone was smiling and laughing, knocking back Firewhiskey shots, having nowhere better to be but there. Not a sad person in the whole lot. And who would Draco be to skew the equation?

But then he saw him—that silly zigzag scar and that head of silly black hair. Harry. He was sitting at the bar next to Weasley, talking animatedly, his laughing mouth flashing all his teeth. Draco felt many things when he looked into Harry's face, not many of which he could readily identify.

He pulled the door open, stepping into the warmth. He looked at Harry as he walked to a barstool, silently pleading that he would saunter over and talk to him, give him a wave, even a tiny glance would do.

Nothing.

Draco ordered a drink.

xxx

He always kept his hair short, barely tickling the nape of his neck, so he looked as little like his father as possible. But even with that change, each time he looked in the mirror, he wanted to rip his face apart because all he could see was Lucius. Not a fleck of his dear mother anywhere. He ran the tap and splashed some water on his face to clear up his head.

"_Malfoy_," Harry growled. "You are _going _to make me late for work, you can pamper yourself later."

Malfoy's facial expression was a definite sad, but hell if he'd let Harry see that. He forced his face into a scowl, pulling the door open in a rush. "Shut it, Potter, I'm done anyway," he said, brushing past him.

Insults were nothing but a casual greeting with Malfoy and Harry knew it. He interpreted it as a simple 'hello.'

"What are you going to work on while I'm gone?" Harry asked. "I was thinking about maybe—"

"I've got this all planned out," Malfoy snapped. "I'm working from the bottom up. Which is pretty hard to do, since most of this place is at the bottom already."

"Mmm," Harry hummed in acknowledgement, rummaging in his medicine cabinet for facial hair removal potion. "Hope you do the carpet soon. It's so tatty, I hate it…"

"Duly noted, Potter," Malfoy called over his shoulder, skirting off to the living room to pore over his spellbooks again.

Harry emerged from the bathroom looking barely thrown together, quickly throwing Floo powder into the fireplace. He muttered his destination and he was gone in a puff of green powder.

As soon as Harry was gone, he was suddenly filled with a very, very childlike urge—to do a good job to impress someone (in this case, Harry). When he was a boy he would work on something for hours for his parents, receiving nothing more from them than a polite nod, curt half-smile, and an impatient hand waving for the nanny to whisk him back to his room. He wanted to do something that would make Harry say _wow._ So amazing it would make Harry call him by his first name.

He had been a little misleading. He was good at every subject, but his forte was Potions, not intricate wandwork to turn common household items into something great. That's why he'd been pounding knowledge in his head for so long—he acted like he knew it, but he didn't.

He pulled two books at a time into his lap, making hurried notes in each of them. There must have been a spell, or a combination of spells, to fix up this 'tatty carpet,' as Harry so put it. It would be a little difficult to root out, but…

He was exhausted. He'd transfigured Harry's couch into a day bed, good for sitting, better for sleeping. That would've been just peachy if sleep was actually what he was getting every night. No, he was far too on edge to sleep. The drastic changes that had been made in his life were constantly whirring in his brain, and try as he might to think of a scenario, a way out where this whole ordeal would end well, he couldn't. He seemed to be stuck.

But in a tiny way, perhaps he _liked_ being stuck.

He was aware that his eyelids had slid shut, and he told himself vaguely that he'd reopen them in a moment after he rested his eyes—but he never did before he fell asleep, head lolling against his chest.

xxx

Harry slid back through his fireplace at the usual 6 a.m. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Malfoy on his day bed, asleep sitting up with a quill still clutched in his limp hand and a book in his lap. Sighing, Harry walked over to him.

"Malfoy…" he said, jostling his shoulder.

Malfoy's eyes cracked open. He sat there in a half-asleep stupor, staring down at his lap, and for a second he forgot where he was—he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and ran a shaky hand through his hair. But when he came to the realization that he wasn't in the Manor at all, and it was Harry who wad woken him, his eyes went wide and his back stiffened.

"Fell asleep, eh?" Harry said.

"I suppose," Malfoy murmured, his voice coated with sleep.

Harry stood there awkwardly for a moment. Malfoy jerked his head up.

"What are you looking at?" Malfoy snapped.

"Er…dunno," Harry said.

_Awkward_.

"I'm making breakfast," he said, taking this as an opportunity to skirt off into the kitchen. "Want any?"

"Oh…sure," Malfoy said.

If you would have told Malfoy a year ago—no, not even a year—if you would have told Malfoy a _month_ ago that he'd be sitting at Harry Potter's table having marmalade on toast and poached eggs with salt and a cup of breakfast tea, he would have been absolutely mortified. It was all beginning to feel a little too much like something…_normal_.

"Malfoy—" Harry began, and Malfoy could tell by the sound of his voice that he was about to say something serious. "I've been thinking about it all day, you've _got_ to tell me _why_ you don't want to go back home—"

"Potter," Malfoy mumbled. "Can't you tell we're having a nice, pleasant breakfast? Don't ask questions like that." The blonde looked away from Harry's gaze.

"Is it _really_ that bad?" Harry said.

Malfoy was silent. He licked a bit of marmalade off his pinkie finger, still tactfully avoiding those prying green eyes.

"Oh, just _tell_ me," Harry said.

"That's awfully insensitive of you," Malfoy said.

Harry frowned at him, opening his mouth to say something further, but Malfoy icily interrupted him.

"All in good time, Potter," Malfoy murmured.

And the rest of breakfast was yet another one of those long, awkward moments—moments that seemed to be becoming more and more prevalent between the two of them.

* * *

**End Notes: **I tried to give Malfoy some actual thoughts and feelings in this chapter. After re-renting Half Blood Prince last night and seeing Malfoy cry, it made remember he's not a robot. Haters gonna hate...


	5. Chapter 5

**Warnings: **First of all, Harry/Malfoy slash. That's pretty self-explanatory. Secondly, slow-burner. As in, if you're looking for a story where they jump in the sack together for no particular reason, sadly, this is not the story for you. Actual slash may not appear in the first few chapters-unless, of course, you're good at reading between the lines. Thirdly, EWE. I'm one of the ones that wishes Rowling didn't write an epilogue, sorry. Also, in this chapter, there's some fluff. If that's not your thing, don't read it, I guess.

**Author's Note: **It took me awhile to write this part, but I finally got it done. Oh, and since I encounter an infinite number of awkward moments every day, I like to put a lot of those in my story-especially in this chapter.

**Suggested Listening for This Chapter: **"Fuck You" by Lily Allen. It's what I listened to while I typed. :P

* * *

Hermione knew what Malfoy's "secret" was. It wasn't that hard to figure out, if you gave it four or five minutes of thought. Harry didn't notice it because he was the type to sweep over the finer details most of the time. Hermione thought about telling Harry, but she figured that Malfoy should tell him on his own time—if he so chose.

But Ron, however, was another story.

"Can't believe Malfoy's actually staying at Harry's place," Ron said, staring at Hermione from across the kitchen table. "I'd be afraid to go to sleep around him."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said. "I know sometimes he can be…er, he can be a little—"

"A prat," Ron said.

"Yes, he _can _be a prat sometimes, but he's not all bad, you know. He's changed a little since the war…"

"I dunno, 'Mione. He's being awfully shady not telling Harry what's got him bothered about going back to his _own_ house."

"I'm sure it's nothing like what you're thinking," Hermione mumbled.

Ron smirked. "You worked out what Malfoy's up to, have you?"

"Well…" Hermione started. "I'm _almost _absolutely certain I know what it is, in any case…"

Ron's eyes widened. "He murdered his parents, didn't he?"

"What?" Hermione said, trying hard not to smile at Ron's accusation.

"He murdered his parents and fled the scene," Ron explained. "He's an only child and his family's not close, so he wouldn't have to worry about someone else discovering the bodies. He couldn't go to his Slytherin friends for help because their parents are friends with the Malfoys, and he couldn't risk discovery…he turned to Harry so he'd have a place to hide! Who would ever suspect The Chosen One to have a murderer living with them? It's the perfect cover!"

Hermione couldn't take it. She burst out laughing.

Ron frowned. "What's wrong with that? Doesn't it make perfect sense, though?"

Hermione quickly stifled her giggles. "I'm sorry, Ron, but no, it doesn't."

"Well, what _is_ it, then, if you're so smart?"

"I don't think I should say…"

"Oh, c'mon, you can't just _not _tell me now. Go on, tell me _your _theory."

"…Promise not to tell Harry?"

Ron hesitated. "Er…shouldn't it be something Harry should know?"

"Well, yes, but not from one of us. Malfoy should be the one to tell Harry."

"And you think that git will actually _tell_ Harry?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Maybe not _today_, or anything, but…he'll come around."

"…Alright," Ron said. "I won't tell Harry. Now spill it."

"Ron, Malfoy's gay."

"What?"

"I know it's not the dramatic story you were hoping for," Hermione said, "but that's what this is all about."

"But he can't be!" Ron said. "He had Slytherin girls hanging all over him back at Hogwarts!"

"And you never noticed the disgusted expression on his face whenever they touched him?"

"I just thought his face _always_ looked like that."

Hermione frowned. "No, Ron."

"Care to explain why _else_ you think Malfoy's gay and not a murderer?"

"Take the fact that he doesn't want to go back home. I imagine he's outed himself to his parents. Malfoys are all about their pure blood, right? Well, since Draco was their only son, if he's gay, that means…"

"Malfoy won't be having any pureblood kids to carry on the family name." Ron was slowly starting to see where she was coming from.

"Exactly. And you can imagine how angry his parents must've been when he told them. He probably feels like he's not wanted—useless."

Hermione eyed Ron carefully, wondering if now would be a good time to bring up what she had on her mind. She supposed that now would be as good a time as any.

"And looking at the signs…I think Harry might be gay, as well."

"What?" Ron snapped. "Absolutely not. He's my best mate, I would've known."

"You don't notice the things Harry does because you're so obviously attracted to women, Ron," Hermione said lightly.

"I still _really_ think you're wrong, 'Mione," Ron said. "Give me an example."

"Well, the most obvious example is Ginny," Hermione said. "Ginny's the only girl Harry's really gotten close with. And Ginny and I were talking about it and she said that she always thought Harry was just dating her so he could try and 'un-gay' himself."

"Ginny said that?" Ron said incredulously. "She thinks Harry's…you know…?"

"And Harry's got girls falling on his feet left and right all the time," Hermione went on. "And how long has it been since he had a date?"

Ron thought. "Er…it was when we fixed him up on a date with Luna, wasn't it?"

"Right. And that was about half a year ago. He hasn't turned his head to look at a girl since."

"And you think he's turning his head to look at…blokes?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "But the interest is definitely there."

Ron winced at the phrase '_The interest is definitely there.'_

"I…I just think he would've _told_ us if he was…like that."

"Maybe he's not so sure himself, just yet."

After a silence, Ron said, "How do you notice things like that?"

"I suppose I'm just…observant." Hermione smiled.

xxx

Malfoy slipped his shoes off and carefully stood on the day bed, staring out at the living room and adjoining kitchen.

"_Aspergo_," Draco muttered with a sharp flick of his wand. The fibers of Harry's carpet were unraveling at the seams, twisting and contorting itself into a handsomely polished hardwood floor. The rumbling of the morphing carpet nearly made him fall off of his perch, but he pinwheeled his arms to regain his balance. He looked out at his handiwork. It was unbelievable how dramatically it changed the aesthetics of Harry's place.

Draco smiled a smug little smile. This was going to knock Scarhead's socks off.

"_Malfoy!_" Harry screamed. Definitely not the reaction he was looking for. Malfoy hopped off the bed, nose in the air, ready for impact.

"You changed the bloody carpet while I was putting my _shaving _potion on my face—_look_," Harry said.

Harry turned to face Malfoy. His facial hair was gone…but so were his entire right eyebrow and a large chunk of his hair on the right side of his head. His cheeks were flushed in anger.

Malfoy stared and stared and stared at him.

"Did you, er…" Malfoy said, trying to bite back his smile. "Did you, er…lose your balance, Potter?"

"Yeah, a little bit," Harry spat.

Malfoy couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want Harry to see him actually being…_happy_, but he couldn't keep it inside. He launched himself into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Potter, you look so _stupid!_" Malfoy said loudly. "_Merlin_, you look _so _terrible!"

"Go on, then, Malfoy, have a good look," Harry said, actually quite enjoying the sight of watching Malfoy struggle with this onslaught of positive feelings, even though he'd never admit it. The blonde was alternating between trying his damndest to fight back his joy and letting it burst out of him. "Get it out of your system before I lose it and sock you one."

"A-huh…ha…" Malfoy said, rubbing the tears out of his eyes, his laughter trailing off. "Are you going to show your face at work today?"

"Not until we fix this," Harry said, jabbing an angry finger at his bizarre condition.

"'_We'_, Potter?" Malfoy said, raising a plucked eyebrow.

"Yeah, _we_ are gonna look in your spellbooks over there and find a way to remedy this," Harry said, grabbing Malfoy by the arm and hauling him over to the day bed.

"All _right_, I can do the rest myself, thanks," Malfoy snapped, but his voice was unusually free of ill temperament. He snatched his arm out of Harry's grasp. He twirled his wand and magicked the books into tidy piles on the coffee table.

"We'll just have to each pick one and look through it," Malfoy explained, flopping down and grabbing a book. "There's no real way to look for it."

Harry sighed, taking a book for himself and sitting alongside Malfoy. "This is going to take forever."

"Shut it and read," Malfoy mumbled, already trailing a long finger down the table of contents.

After a few minutes, Harry piped up. "What about this?" He leaned toward Malfoy so the blonde could see what passage he was pointing to. "Will this work, do you reckon?"

Malfoy looked over. "No, it'll take too long."

"Where do you see that?"

"Look, it says right here that it'll take three days for it to—" He had reached his hand out to point to where the passage said that at the same moment Harry reached out to move the book closer to his face. Their fingertips brushed. Both of them yanked their hands away like they were on fire.

"Er…for it to take effect," Malfoy finished lamely.

Harry would kid Malfoy about the pink color that had risen in his cheeks, but he knew his face looked exactly the same.

"…Right," Harry murmured. "I'll just try another one, then," he said, grabbing another book from the stack.

_Great, more awkward silence,_ they both thought in unison.

Twenty long, grueling minutes later, Malfoy finally came across something. "I think this'll work," he said loudly, eager to rip the silence between them.

"Yeah?" Harry said, eager to play along. "What is it?"

"A charm to add more body to your hair," Malfoy explained. "But by the way it works, I can patch your eyebrow and your hair back in…and there's a thinning charm underneath so I can make the other side match."

"How long do you think this'll take?"

"I'm not sure. An hour, perhaps."

"Good, because that's just about all the time we've got," Harry said, jumping up. "Let's set up in the bathroom so I can watch what you're doing in the mirror."

Malfoy got up. "You're assuming I've already agreed to do this, Potter."

"Be a prat some other time, all right?" Harry said over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom. Malfoy sighed and followed him.

Malfoy Transfigured a bar of soap into an ivory-colored dining chair. "Sit," he said.

He laid the magazine open to the page where he found the charms and placed it on the counter. He reread it and his brow furrowed.

"What if I can't do this?" Malfoy said.

"You can't make it much worse," Harry said bitterly.

"All right…" Malfoy said. "I'll give it a go."

He readied his wand at Harry's brow bone. "Chin up," Malfoy said, putting a finger under his chin and tilting it upwards. He gave it a quick swipe, whispering the thickening charm, and dozens of babyfine, short hairs cropped up. Not exactly an identical of the other eyebrow, but someone would have to look damn close to tell the difference.

Then he stuck the tip of his wand to Harry's bald spot and murmured the thickening charm, saying it very crisply and clearly. Fifteen or so hairs grew in place where his wand made contact with skin—fine, thin, and scarcely four inches long, but still Harry's black color.

"Better than nothing," Harry shrugged.

It was a lot of work—a lot of prodding, a lot of guesswork, a lot of going back over some spots to even it out. Eventually Malfoy got one solid-looking layer that didn't look too terribly bad—better than a bald spot, anyway.

"I think I can make it a bit thicker if I—"

"No time, just thin the other side so it matches and we'll fix it up later."

Thinning was a little trickier. He pointed his wand and murmured the charm, and a few hairs fell out. Depending on how forcefully he said the charm, Malfoy discovered, more or less hair would fall out accordingly. There was an increasing pile of hair littering Harry's bathroom floor.

"Been awhile since you've had a haircut, eh, Potter?" Malfoy's attempt at a snarky comment was lacking.

"Yeah, actually," Harry mumbled.

_So very, very, very _awkward.

"Finished," Malfoy said.

Harry's hair was thin and somewhat flat, but it still had a hint of that trademark silly kink. Harry smirked.

"Interesting," Harry said.

"Hold on a minute, Potter," Malfoy said. He raked his fingers through Harry's hair, parting it on the left side of his head. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and over to the side.

"There, Potter, now everyone can see that pretty scar of yours," Malfoy said, smirking. He had acted like it was a sarcastic comment, but…inside, he was being serious.

Harry felt a strange squelching in his gut at the feeling of Malfoy's fingers knotted in his hair. He didn't know what that meant, nor did he really want to…he just knew he needed to get away from the situation, and fast, because it was becoming rapidly more tense and confusing and…

_Awkward._

Harry shot up out of the chair, causing Malfoy to yank his hand away. "I, er—I better be off to work now, you know, don't want to be late…"

"Yeah," Malfoy mumbed.

"Er…see you later then," Harry said, not even looking back as he skirted out of the bathroom.

Malfoy waved an unenthusiastic wand to clear away the mess in the floor as he stood there, rooted to the spot, confused, infuriated, worried, fearful…but mostly, confused.

How did he ever dig himself so deeply into this?

* * *

**End Notes: **Slight plot development. Tried to make it move along a little more, but did not succeed. Maybe next chapter. Also, the ice is slowly but surely starting to melt off of Malfoy's heart...but not too much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings: **First of all, Harry/Malfoy slash. That's pretty self-explanatory. Secondly, slow-burner. As in, if you're looking for a story where they jump in the sack together for no particular reason, sadly, this is not the story for you. Actual slash may not appear in the first few chapters-unless, of course, you're good at reading between the lines. Thirdly, EWE. I'm one of the ones that wishes Rowling didn't write an epilogue, sorry.

**Author's Note: **I sat down and wrote all of this in one sitting, which is unusual for me. It was an easy chapter for me, for some reason.

**Suggested Listening for This Chapter: **"Benefits of Lying With Your Friend" by Apples in Stereo.

* * *

Malfoy was pacing about the house. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted to cry. A few rogue tears prickled in his eyes, but he blinked furiously to keep them from sliding down his cheeks. Confused though he may be, he was not going to cry. Malfoys didn't cry.

He'd let his feelings slip through—just the once. He'd allowed himself to touch that mess of black hair, to run his fingers through it. It was wonderful. And what had Harry done? He'd run away, and fast, slipping through the Floo without another word, leaving a half-hour early just so he wouldn't have to look at the blonde. Malfoy supposed that was what rejection felt like.

He wished he could simply point his wand at his heart, mutter "_Episkey_," and be off with this onslaught of awkwardness and confusion and longing and ache.

Just then he heard a faint pecking at Harry's front door. _Who would be knocking on the door at such a late hour? _he thought. He opened the door a tiny crack and peered out.

It was Granger, shifting her weight from foot to foot on the top porch step. She caught Malfoy's eye and gave him a weak little smile. Seeing as she wasn't a deranged murderer, he wrenched the door open the rest of the way.

"Potter's not here," he said, before she could get a word in edgewise.

"I know," Hermione said. "I was actually hoping he wouldn't be."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Malfoy said icily.

"Well…I was hoping I could talk to _you_, actually," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully.

Malfoy was taken aback, temporarily at a loss for what to say. Could this evening get any stranger? He was trodding further and further onto uncertain ground, first passively flirting with Scarhead, and now chatting it up with the Mudblood? He opened his mouth to tell her to piss off. But that's not what he ended up saying, much to his surprise.

"Fine," he said shortly, moving out of the doorway to let her inside.

She made herself at home at Harry's kitchen table. Malfoy reluctantly sat across from her, still feeling very suspicious about all of this.

Hermione wasted no time in getting straight to the point. Her eyes locked onto Malfoy's, full of fiery determination. "Look, Draco, I know why you're not going home."

"What?" Malfoy snapped. "How much has Potter been telling you?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, you've told Harry already?"

"Told Harry _what_?"

"Oh…so you _haven't_ told Harry yet."

"Granger, what _are_ you going on about?" Malfoy said. But then something clicked in his mind. Granger was smart. Intuitive. She could put two and two together, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it.

"Wait…" he said slowly. "How much do you know?"

"Well…although…I'm not _certain_ about all of this…"

"Go on," Malfoy said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "I want to know what you think is happening, here, Granger."

Hermione thought for a moment. "I suppose there's no better way to say this," she said. "You told your parents you were gay, didn't you, Malfoy?" Her voice was delicate, like she was tiptoeing across a floor of eggshells.

A cold shock shot through Malfoy's body. He bored his eyes into her. "I—wait—how did you know that?"

"So I was right," she said.

"Wh—yes, yes, you're right about that," Malfoy grumbled. "But—how did you _know_?"

"I just…looked at the circumstances and made an assumption," Hermione said curtly. "But now that that's out of the way…I wanted to talk to you about Harry."

Malfoy didn't say anything to that. Hermione took it as her cue to press on. "Ever since you've started staying with him…I know you don't see it because you haven't been around him for very long, but…he's _so_ much happier, Draco."

A wave of emotions coursed through him. He felt that peculiar coldness in his gut again. "He—he is?" He tried to keep his face blank and uncaring.

"Yes," Hermione said. "He's in a much better mood now, and I think I know why."

Malfoy raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I _really _do think that Harry is gay, as well," Hermione said. "He hasn't had his eyes on a girl in so long, and I just think he doesn't want to admit he's…different."

"What's your point, Granger?" Malfoy said.

Hermione sighed. "I'm not going to tell you what to do," Hermione said, "but I honestly think it would be best if you told Harry you were gay. It would make the tension that is undoubtedly between you two go away. Also, I think it'll help Harry come to the realization about his own true feelings—whatever they may be."

"And if I tell him this and he kicks me out on the street?" Malfoy said. "What then, Granger? Bet you didn't think of _that_ one, eh?"

"Harry would never kick you out," Hermione said.

"How can you be so sure?" Malfoy spat.

"Because you and I both know Harry's not like that," Hermione said gently. "And if you ever want to be more than a friend with him, you've got to start somewhere."

"'More than a friend'? Who said anything about me wanting to be _more than a friend _with Potter?"

"You wouldn't have stuck around this long if you didn't want something more," Hermione said. "Also, your face is so red right now that there's no question in my mind that you have feelings for him."

Malfoy's back stiffened. "I—what—I could never tell Harry that, though," he said. He let it spill from his mouth before he thought about it, even calling the git by his first name, and wished he could take it back. But it was too late.

"You _can_," Hermione said. And suddenly, an idea hit her. "Why don't Ron and I have a little party? We'll invite loads of people, including you and Harry. It'll be crowded, so it'll be easy for the two of you to sneak away and talk…and Harry can't run away and blow you off, because he'll be at our place and he won't want to run out on us."

Malfoy took all this in. It was actually…quite a brilliant plan, though he hated to acknowledge the fact. It may work.

"Why are you so eager to help, Granger?" Malfoy said. "What's in it for you?"

"I just want Harry to be happy," Hermione said. "If for one second I didn't think you'd treat him right, or the two of you wouldn't get on just _perfectly_…I'd have never taken time out of my busy day to talk to you myself."

She took a deep breath and sighed audibly. "The two of you have a strange, strange history together," she said. "Lots of memories, good and bad. You've seen parts of him that no one else but you, his former enemy…could be able to see.

He likes you. I can tell. And I _know _you like him. The two of you have a chance, you know, but if you don't wise up and jump on it, it'll be gone before you realize it."

"…You really think this whole party idea is going to work, eh?" Malfoy said.

"Oh, absolutely, if you play your cards right," Hermione said, beaming, violently changing the atmosphere of the conversation. "I'll owl you two an invitation tomorrow."

* * *

**End Notes: **We're getting there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings: **First of all, Harry/Malfoy slash. That's pretty self-explanatory. Secondly, slow-burner. As in, if you're looking for a story where they jump in the sack together for no particular reason, sadly, this is not the story for you. Actual slash may not appear in the first few chapters-unless, of course, you're good at reading between the lines. Thirdly, EWE. I'm one of the ones that wishes Rowling didn't write an epilogue, sorry.

**Author's Note: **Now, I know that this isn't getting all that many reviews, but I'm getting PLENTY of people putting this story onto their favorites. For all of the people that reviewed, and for the people that added this story to their favorites...thanks so much. :}

**Suggested Listening for This Chapter: **"You Are Not a Robot" - Marina and the Diamonds

* * *

Hermione's party was nearly pitch dark, save for a few candles she'd charmed to glow bright blue. There were loads of loud music and loads of Firewhiskey. People were jammed nearly to the walls, dancing, sloshing their drinks all over her carpet, laughing. Harry and Malfoy had mingled for a few minutes before Malfoy couldn't take it anymore.

"Potter, I think we need to talk about something. Let's go someplace quiet, shall we?" Malfoy yelled over the beat of the music.

"Now?" Harry yelled.

"Yes, _now_. Let's go out back."

The two of them went out Hermione's back door, stepping into the night. A few people dotted her back lawn, some out for some fresh air on their face, others sucking at a cigarette. Malfoy maneuvered them into a secluded area betwixt the side of the house and a line of tall hedges. They'd be out of earshot from everyone there.

"Look, I'm tired of playing games with you, Harry," Draco said. Harry looked absolutely taken aback at Malfoy using his first name. "Let's just get all this settled once and for all, all right?"

"Okay," Harry said, being more serious than he'd ever been.

"The reason why I haven't been back to my place is—" Malfoy hesitated, looking into those green, green eyes. "—because I told my dad I was gay, and he doesn't want me anymore. Okay? That's the story. Happy now?"

Malfoy jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, trying very hard to keep a haughty look plastered onto his face, but Harry could see right through it.

"No, Mal—_Draco_. No, I'm not happy. That's terrible," he said.

Malfoy's eyes cut daggers into Harry's. "_Terrible_? Fuck, Harry, I thought you'd be just a _little _more understanding than to say I'm _terrible_ for—"

"Draco, Draco, no, I meant…I meant that it's terrible for your dad to make you feel unwanted in your own home just because you're…gay." He uttered the last word softly.

Malfoy's face transformed into something strange—it went from dignified and superior to scared, weak, vulnerable. His mouth went dry.

"And for the longest time I've…" Malfoy continued, his voice losing its typical bite. "I've been thinking about you, and—"

"Wait," Harry said. "Don't say it. Not yet."

"Why not?" Malfoy said, wounded.

"Because," Harry said, "I don't know if I, er…well, if I fancy girls, or if I fancy…guys."

"Well, we're ending this charade right this instant," Malfoy snapped. "You're about to find out what you _fancy_."

Malfoy's hands shot out and grabbed at the back of Harry's neck, pulling him close. He hesitated for a brief moment, his breath hitching in his throat, before he gingerly pressed his lips against Harry's. The gentle pressure sent electric shocks through his body. He tensed up at lack of reciprocation, yet unwilling to pull away. All of his muscles unwound when he felt a pair of arms snake experimentally around his waist and a pair of lips meshing against his. He let a small, almost inaudible moan bubble up from his throat.

Their kiss lasted a total of about ten seconds. Malfoy pulled his lips away, but kept a grip on Harry's neck. "Feel anything?" he murmured.

In answer to his question, Harry gave him another quick peck on the lips, making both of them shiver at the spontaneity.

"I…I've always thought you had a very handsome face, Draco," Harry mumbled. "And I've always thought…you smelled nice."

Malfoy laughed…an _actual _laugh, for the first time in ages.

"I promise not to be so much of a prat if you'll give this a chance, Harry," Draco said, about an inch away from Harry's face.

"Well, if you weren't a prat, you wouldn't be Draco," Harry smiled. "Just be a little nicer to my friends and you've got yourself a deal."

"I think I can manage that," Malfoy said. He put his lips to Harry's zigzag scar and gave it a number of barely-there kisses.

"So, are we, er…" Harry said. "Are we dating now?"

"Oh, don't rush it," Malfoy said, pulling his head back to look at Harry. "Besides…you'll have to take me out on a date before we're actually _dating_, get it?"

Harry's face burned red. Take Malfoy on a date? It sounded oddly inviting.

"You be thinking about where you want to treat me," Draco said. "Oh, and before we leave, you best thank your friend Granger."

"What for—" he started, but then it hit him. "Did she set all this up just so the two of us would finally talk to each other?"

"That she did," Malfoy smirked.

"I knew she wouldn't have a party on such short notice for no reason at all…" Harry mumbled. He looked up at Malfoy and grinned.

"This is all new to me, you know," Harry blurted. "I've never been with a guy before—"

"I know," Malfoy said. "Neither have I. Well," he corrected himself. "Not anything serious."

_Not anything serious_. The phrase rang in Harry's mind over and over again. He would be Malfoy's first real—

"_Harry_!" he heard Hermione's voice squeal, and he tore himself away from Malfoy to whip around to face her. His heart was hammering again.

"Oh, no need to, er, stop what you were doing," Hermione said, blushing. "I was just looking for you and Draco, to see if you'd _talked_ yet." She gave Malfoy a meaningful stare.

"Yes, Hermione, we've got everything all situated," Harry said. "How do you think Ron's going to take all this, though?"

"He's getting used to the idea of having Draco around," Hermione said. "I thought this might happen so I've been preparing him for it." She smiled.

"I'll have to talk to him about it tomorrow…" Harry said.

"He'll be fine with it soon enough," Hermione assured him.

"But Hermione—" Harry started. "How did you…how did you _know_? About me and…Draco, I mean?"

"Just because you two are too stubborn to see what you really feel doesn't mean I am," she said, smiling.

"Well—thanks," Harry said.

xxx

"You know, I get loads of compliments on my hair at work," Harry said to Draco across the table. Harry'd made breakfast again. It was becoming something of a tradition to wake Draco up as soon as he was about to go to sleep, so they'd get to see each other for at least a little while during the day, and make a light breakfast.

"Yeah?" Draco said. "Then I guess the people you work with don't know what a real haircut looks like." But he was grinning.

"They say it makes me look more sophisticated."

"That wouldn't have taken much, though, would it?" Draco mumbled, taking a sip of his tea.

"I suppose you're right," Harry said, smiling.

"What color scheme do you want for the bedroom?" Draco asked.

"Color scheme?"

"Yeah, I found a cotton-to-silk charm in a magazine last night and I'll be changing those dreadful bedsheets into something that doesn't feel like _sand_paper. I was thinking maybe a light blue…and then of course some other color for the drapes, like maybe a grey or something…"

"You do what you want, Draco, I don't care either way," Harry said.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Draco smirked.

They picked at their plates in silence for awhile, then Draco thought of something. "Oh, I was meaning to ask, how did the Weasels—sorry, _Weasleys_ take the news that you're snogging on a Malfoy?"

"Well, to be honest, Ron wasn't thrilled at first, but he's coming round. Ginny…" he sighed. "I think Ginny knew all along, but she's still taking it pretty hard. I think she still liked me," he said, frowning. "But the one who took it the worst was Molly…she wanted me to be a part of the family _so _badly by marrying Ginny."

Draco saw Harry's sunken face and wiped his dumb smirk off his face. He reached over and put a warm hand atop Harry's. "I know," he said. "My mum finally owled me last night. She said she'd love to come visit me, but…my father still doesn't want any part of me. I know how you feel."

Harry nodded and smiled weakly. "Yeah."

"And I know you don't really get it because you're such a Gryffindor," Draco said, "but sometimes you've just got to stop trying to make others happy all the time and make _yourself_ happy. And they can love you or leave you."

Harry thought about that for a moment, letting the idea percolate. "…I suppose you're right, Draco."

"I guess the only question to ask yourself, Harry, is…are you happy the way things are? Right now?"

Harry thought. "Well…I think this place could use a breakfast nook, but…" he said, laughing.

And Draco laughed right along with him.

* * *

**End Notes: **I was actually thinking about making this the end, so I could go on and work on another idea I had. But I'm not entirely sure yet. So, for now, I won't click the 'complete' button...but it may very well be completed. Not sure.


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